More than me, less than you
by Cupcakes-and-cheese
Summary: *ON HIATUS*- !
1. Seriously

**Chapter 1: Seriously**

**A/N: I thought it was time for something new.**

**I don't know how well this fic will be received, but I'll update regularly if someone says they like it. I don't know where I'll go with this fic. It'll almost be like a series of connected one-shots that follow one big plot.**

**Sorry if that doesn't make sense. Also, if you spot any mistakes (and it's inevitable you will) just tell me about them in a review, and I'll do my best to fix it.**

**Now, read on and enjoy your un-betaed shite.**

Cerulean blue.

Some hazy part of Arthur's mind wondered if Alfred knew how beautiful his eyes were, and another, more clear part whispered back dryly that the egotistical dick probably _did._

And it was so _strange,_lying there on the riverbank in the sunshine with the American, his bare feet curling in the grass. Arthur felt his face heating up for the billionth time when the American turned on his side and gazed at Arthur's face, eyes moving leisurely over the boyishly handsome features.

"You...You really don't look twenty-three" Alfred stated slowly, and then groaned when Arthur kicked his shin. Hard.

"Well, I AM." Arthur huffed rolling over and turning his back on the American. Alfred gave a little whine, and began tracing a long finger up and down Arthur's spine, until the smaller man wriggled and whispered "Stop that!"

Alfred didn't take any notice, and simply shifted, so that his mouth was directly above the Brit's ear, and whispered "You know, there's only four years difference between us"

Arthur stiffened slightly, and if Alfred felt it, he didn't say anything.

"Yeah, so?" Arthur could've slapped himself when his voice shook.

Alfred twisted round and flopped down on his back, leaning his head back on his arms and closing his eyes in the warm, late afternoon sunshine .

"Just saying" he murmured.

Arthur pulled himself up to look at the American, his eyes roaming over the American's chest and arms and down to-

"If you want to check me out, just say. I'll pose for you." Alfred deadpanned, his eyes closed.

Arthur felt himself blush all over. For a moment resembled one of Antonio's tomatoes, then he paled and began stuttering "N-no. Who said I was c-checking you out anyway? Idiot. A-and don't pose. You'll look like a fool!"

Alfred opened his eyes and sat up, almost bumping noses with the Brit, who recoiled quickly, and stared in something akin to horror as the American quickly assumed the pose of a wannabe glamor model, hand on one jutting hip, pink lips pouted.

"Check it" The Americans voice was oddly muffled from trying to speak with unmoving pouting lips.

Arthur felt sick with himself- he really shouldn't find Alfred's bizarre attitude attractive, but he did. Hell, he shouldn't even find another _man_attractive.

Francis was right; perhaps he WAS gay. But that DID NOT mean he was going into any of those ridiculous clubs again! It was bad enough the first time! Arthur simply oozed uke-ness, and that WAS NOT a good thing when one was in a cramped, hot room full of lecherous men. Arthur had had enough of being felt up by transvestites and such. No, he needed a proper relationship. With a kind mature male who-

Arthur felt the strange need to cry and laugh at the same time when his thoughts somehow drifted to silly _Alfred_being mature. It wasn't right for someone like the American to be mature.

Arthur would never have a normal relationship with the American, would he? They weren't even in a relationship, and they had only kissed once when both drunk out of their minds- hell, they wouldn't have even known about that kiss if Francis hadn't showed them a blurry Polaroid of the impromptu makeout session.

Yes, there was no _official_relationship, but there was something _there-_Mutual attraction? Lust? or maybe-

"Iggy?"

Arthur looked up through his lashes into those big blue eyes that were suddenly very close.

"Yes?" He breathed back, delighted when Alfred shivered.

They stayed like that for a moment, their noses almost touching. Arthur wondered if it was some sort of challenge- who could take it the longest? He felt something akin to sick satisfaction when Alfred's face slowly heated up, and his eyes swiveled down to Arthur's lips and-

Suddenly Alfred was leaning back on his heels as he knelt, his gaze blank and directed to some point over Arthur's shoulder. Arthur thought it was quite funny how flushed his face was and how wide his eyes were in comparison to the firm, serious set of his mouth.

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred's eyes made their way back to the Brit's face. They seemed darker than usual. Or maybe it was just the lighting. The sun was probably setting already. Arthur always forgot the time when he was with Alfred...

"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur's tone was dry and wary, completely expecting the American to ask to borrow money or something of the sort. Alfred always seemed to think of bizarre favors to ask ("Hey, Arthur! Can I borrow...lets see...some gasoline, a lighter and a trampoline? Thanks!") and the strangest place and time to ask them. His sporadic childishness somewhat reminded the Brit of Feliciano, only less extreme. Arthur routinely made it a point to pray to every god in the sky that another Felicano wasn't born for preferably the next millennium or so. One every thousand years was enough thank-you-very-

"How would you react if I told you I wanted to jump your bones?"

It was official. Someone like Alfred just _wasn't_meant to be serious.


	2. Windows

**Chapter 2: Windows**

**A/N- Thank you so much for all the reviews. I love you guys. Seriously, I do.**

**I had no idea where I was going with this.**

**I never have any idea where I'm going with a story. I just write it and hope it doesn't suck too badly...**

**Please ignore any typos.**

Arthur reckoned he took Alfred's declaration pretty well, after all; he didn't slap or scream at the American and while Arthur concluded that simply getting up and walking away hadn't been his best move in life, it could've been worse.

He felt bad for leaving Alfred like that, but the Brit had needed some time to think. At least thats what he thought three days ago. Now he was kind of missing the goofy American.

As Arthur stirred at his 'cake mix' (which actually resembled a bowl of sludge, and probably tasted like it) he wondered about Alfred's absence for the last four days. It wasn't like the American to go running for something so (in Arthur's mind) _trivial_. Okay, so maybe Arthur's reaction was less than encouraging, but Alfred WAS NOT supposed to get cold feet and not want to hang out with the Brit anymore.

Arthur had never been without Alfred for more three days, not since they met via Francis three years ago. Thinking about this made Arthur frown and pause in his vigorous mixing. Alfred wasn't one to run away- scratch that. Alfred ran away from spiders, graveyards and those creepy dolls you see in antique shops.

But he never ran from Arthur.

In fact, he would come running TO Arthur if he was scared; once Arthur woke up to someone climbing through his window, and after beating said person with a tacky plastic vase he kept on his nightstand he came to realize the person was actually Alfred, who'd seen the latest zombie blockbuster earlier that evening and wanted consoling.

Arthur would never know what possessed Alfred to climb _through his window_, though. That really was a mystery.

Arthur resumed mixing his cake mix, and while another person would've screamed and ran when something wriggled under the too-watery murky surface of the sludge, the Brit _actually smiled;_ genuinely proud that he hadn't set anything on fire yet.

Thats when Alfred decided to make his entrance.

The American had a habit of simply walking into the Brit's house, and today was no different. He had stood in the doorway to Arthur kitchen for maybe a minute, staring at the Brit's back and wondering what Arthur was fumbling about with.

Then he realized; Arthur was _cooking_.

His horrified gasp was what made Arthur whip round and stare at Alfred with thinly veiled surprise.

"You should've knocked."Arthur chastised as he did every time Alfred simply walked into his house; it was routine "Anyway, where have you been for the last three days, hmm?"

Alfred answered by throwing himself across the kitchen and wrenched the cooking bowl from Arthur's long fingers. Arthur was about to complain at the rudeness and about his now aching fingers until Alfred the bowl at the kitchen window, and Arthur yelped loudly as the porcelain bowl shattered the glass and the cake mix suddenly found itself in the grass in the Brit's back yard.

"ALFRED, MY WINDOW!" Arthur screeched as Alfred hustled him to the floor and against the kitchen cabinets with a muffled cry of "Get down!"

They slumped there, panting, Arthur somehow trying to find the words to voice his fury while Alfred looked slighly worried, and his gaze kept slipping to the window, as if he were imagining something horrible climbing in.

"I think I killed it." the American finally stated, sounding content "It won't try to eat you now"

Arthur tried to ignore how close Alfred's (surprisingly toned) chest was to his face "Alfred," He finally ground out "That was my cake mix. I was going to eat _it_"

Alfred wrenched himself back, somehow managing to stagger upwards at the same time. His face was aghast as Arthur too pulled himself upright, leaning heavily on the counter.

"Artie. _Artie._" Alfred sounded truly scandalized now, and his hand moved up to cover his mouth.

"First you _break my window,_and now you call me by that dreaded nickname? It's even worse than _Iggy_" Arthur was positively seething now, as he stormed up to Alfred and hit the taller man's chest repeatedly with is balled fists. "You tosser! My window! My-"

He cut himself off quite suddenly when Alfred leaned down, so their noses almost touched. The Brit gave a little squeak when Alfred grabbed Arthur's wrists, which were still poised in mid-air for their violent attack.

Alfred's eyes were _that blue_ again, and filled with some sort of sadness.  
>"Iggy" His voice broke, and he swallowed painfully. "Were you...Were you trying to kill yourself?"<p>

Arthur was speechless, and suddenly breathless as Alfred swept him up into one of his infamous bone-crushing hugs.

They stood there for a minute, until Arthur finally managed to gasp out; "Alfred, I wasn't trying to kill myself. Honest. I love life, really"

Alfred drew back, looking at the the green-eyed Brit in his arms. "Really?"

"Really." Arthur said, looking up into Alfred's eyes. They really were an amazing shade of blue. "My cooking isn't that bad is it, really? I mean-"

"-Arthur, it was _moving_" Alfred's voice was very grave, and Arthur found himself heating up- Alfred was far too damn attractive when he tried to be serious! It was why Arthur liked him so much better when he was all goofy. He quickly looked down, feeling scrutinized by those _gorgeous_ blue eyes.

He felt long fingers gently lifting up his chin, and those blue eyes were soft again, almost meltingly so.

Was it just Arthur, or was Alfred's face getting closer?

It was.

Arthur too was unconsciously leaning forward, until some angry corner of his mind reminded him of his lost morning and cake mix.

"YOU BROKE MY WINDOW YOU BASTARD!" Arthur screamed as his fist connected with Alfred's jaw.

Arthur gathered this was Alfred's day for taking things well. The two were sat awkwardly side-by-side on Arthur's sofa while a couple of men replaced the glass in Arthur's kitchen.

Every now and then they would hear yelps as the builders stepped in some of the 'cake mix'. Arthur put his head in his hands as Alfred nursed his bruised jaw.

"I'm sorry about your window." The man murmured, sounding sincere. Arthur gave a huff of acknowledgement.

"What are you doing here anyway? I haven't seen you in days! Usually you're over here harassing me in some way!"

Alfred shifted on the sofa next to the Brit "I missed you." He said simply.

Arthur felt himself blushing all over again. Until a thought struck him. One that made him go cold all over.

"Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you get in here, anyways? I'm pretty sure I locked the door..."

"Oh." Alfred said, leaning his head on the back of the sofa and stretching out his legs. Arthur took a second to admire the Americans lean form "That. I have the spare key you used to keep under the flowerpot by your door"

"Its no wonder Ivan tried to issue a restraining order on you!" Arthur wailed "You're downright creepy, and I'd like the key back!"

Alfred ignored him, and a mustached builder with a bad case of acne poked his head through the door and said something in a heavy Brazilian accent that Arthur couldn't quite decipher.

"Thanks!" Alfred called back to him, and the builders head was gone.

"What did he say?" Arthur asked, only mildly distracted from the problem of his missing key.

"That they're done, and let themselves out." Alfred said, grinning down at Arthur. "And you're not having your key back."

"Yooh-hoo! Boys!" The sound of the front door opening and closing made Arthur cringe. There was only one other person who visited him without warning and that was-

Francis poked his head around the living room door, a flirtatious smile on his face, a silent boy with a striking resemblance to Alfred trudged in after the French man. Arthur just couldn't place his name. Martha? No, _no_, that couldn't be right. Mark? No, not that either...

"I _hope_you don't mind, _mon petit cherie_" Francis said with a smile as he made himself at home on the armchair, dragging the now blushing nameless boy onto his lap. "But those nice men let me in. Is one them your boyfriend?"

Alfred stiffened. Arthur ground his teeth together, already irked at the Frenchman.

"No" The Brit spat out. "They were the builders. This tosser"-a vague wave in Alfred's direction "Broke my window. What do you want anyway?"

"Mattie?" Alfred breathed in the direction of the boy on Francis's lap "Is that you?"

Arthur was momentarily speechless. Alfred _never_looked at people with adoration like that.

The boy in Francis's lap blushed, and then sqeaked as Alfred suddenly had him up and off Francis in a surprisingly gentle hug.

Arthur only stared. Francis smirked at the Brit.

"Mattie! Oh Matt! I haven't seen you in months! lets go back to my place! We can talk and swap stories and other girly shit!" Arthur would've mocked Alfred's manner if he wasn't so strangely tongue-tied.

Who was this Mattie person to Alfred?

Arthur felt like shreiking when Alfred dragged Mattie out of the living room and into the hall.

Francis called out "Don't be late for the party here at 7! Everyone's going to be here!"

"Right-O!" Alfred yelled back, and Arthur's front door shut with a sickening finality.

The Brit turned to Francis.

"Party? what sodding party?" He almost wailed; he wasn't having a good day. Not only had this morning brung Alfred braking his window and running off with some shy blonde, but a demented Frenchman had decided to throw an impromptu party at his house.

Francis merely winked.


	3. Alcohol

**Chapter 3: Alcohol**

**A/N- You reviews and Alerts mean a lot to me, they really do.**

**I'm sorry for all the clichés and typos. And my writing style is a bit off...I just wanted to get this done and up today.**

Arthur was in an uncomfortable place; somewhere between drunk and sober. He felt sick and dizzy, but his mind could still calculate perfectly. It was quite disconcerting when his body didn't obey his perfectly clear brain. This had certainly never happened to him before. He blamed Alfred.

_It was always Alfred._

Arthur staggered across the kitchen, somehow managing not to bump into any of the other drunken swaying bodies. Arthur's hand shot out to grab a bottle of beer from the counter, where most of the alcohol was piled up.

Of course, Arthur's arm was not obeying his mind, and instead of reaching out for a beer, he somehow instead managed to sock Gilbert in the face.

The self-proclaimed Prussian was slumped against the front of the counter, his head leaning on the edge; a six-pack of beer on one arm and a drunk, giggling Elizaveta in the other. The Albino didn't seem to notice Arthur's sudden attack, as he simply hiccuped loudly and attempted to open another can.

Arthur cringed, and prayed the Prussian wouldn't have a bruise in the morning. Gilbert always got shirty when someone bruised his face.

Arthur took his beer and somehow made his way into the living room, where Francis was giving a wailing crowd a disturbingly slow strip-tease. Arthur slumped down on the sofa and tried to avert his eyes, only to find a nearly-sobbing Ivan trying to do the same. Ivan had not wanted to see Francis in a sexual situation ever since that pool party two years ago.

Someone (namely a grumbling Lovino supporting a drunk Antonio) had switched on Arthur's TV and somehow managed to find the E! Entertainment channel. Most of the drunken crowed that had been ogling Francis's hairy chest were now drawn to the 42" screen with strange interest, like (albeit drunken) moths to a flame. Who knew Arthur's friends liked Paris Hilton so much?

Maybe Arthur needed new friends. Ones that didn't like make out in his closet. He would never forget that time he stumbled in on Feliciano and Ludwig.

Speaking of the inseparable duo, the were cuddled in a semi-drunken mess on the armchair. The German's usual restraint at public affection had completely vanished, and Arthur grimaced when he placed a sloppy kiss on the Italian's forehead.

Arthur was toying with the idea that he either had commitment issues or was romantically inept as Alfred staggered through the living room, obviously already drunk and having let himself in. No-one payed him much attention as he and Francis began a swaying intoxicated Rumba in the middle of the living room floor.

Arthur felt like crying, and strangely even more so when Mattie poked his head round the doorframe, his blue eyes wide as he stared at Alfred.

The bespectacled blonde stood there for a moment, until he spotted Arthur on the sofa and made a beeline for the Brit.

Arthur held back a grimace as Mattie perched on the sofa next to him, and leaned over.  
>"I-I'm so sorry Arthur, I tried to get him not to drink beforehand and show a little manners but-"<p>

Arthur silenced the boy with a wave "It's fine. He's always like this"

Mattie gave a small nod, and suddenly beamed at Arthur "He talks about you a lot, you know..."

Arthur gave a groan "What does he say?" knowing Alfred, the American had made up some long epic saga about the Brit which Arthur would have to play along with lest he get blackmailed with that gymnastics tape that Alfred had somehow obtained.

Arthur swore to himself that he would never take up gymnastics again.

Mattie's grin faded to the softest of smiles, a sincere one that made Arthur feel funny- Just _where_had he seen this strange boy before? Arthur was positive they had met before. The deja vu was suffocating.

"Well, actually" Mattie said, in a tone that mirrored his soft smile "I think Alfred rather-"

"Hey Artie!" Speak of the Devil... "Lets DANCE."

Arthur couldn't contain his wail of pure anguish this time as Alfred pulled him up. The Brit would rather chat with Mattie any day, no matter how strange Arthur felt towards the quiet blonde for being so close with Alfred.

Mattie was sane and polite, hence why Arthur liked him.

Arthur was quite suddenly reminded of the fact Alfred wanted to 'jump his bones' when he was pulled flush against the American. The Brit ignored Francis's catcalls and instead felt bad for Mattie, who obviously was in some sort of relationship with the American.

The situation got worse quite quickly though, as Alfred wrapped his arms round the Brit's waist, and began a soft little sway.

Arthur had no idea what was going on.

He had been expecting some sort of wacky tango, not some bizzarely tender sway on the spot.

It really was rather awkward; Arthur didn't really know where to put his hands, and escaping from the iron cage of Alfred's arms was out of the question. So, he settled for placing his shaking white fingers on Alfred's back and throwing a panicked glance in the direction of Mattie, who looked unaffected by the whole scenario, and was attempting to stop a dozing Ivan from leaning on him.

It seemed Arthur was on his own. Alfred's boyfriend/significant other (?) wasn't going to help him with this, and a catcalling Francis definitely wasn't either. Everyone else seemed oblivious to Arthur's discomfort, and only cooed at the TV as it was announced that Jennifer Anderson was adopting.

Arthur toyed with the idea of socking Alfred in the face, but since the American had leaned his head on the Brit's shoulder, such a movement could be proved difficult.

And then, quite suddenly, it was just him and Alfred; his hands on the Americans back, and Alfred's head on his shoulder. It was a strange feeling. like drowning in something soft and almost unbearably sweet. And for the barest of moments, Arthur felt completely and utterly alone, drowning in this intoxicating sweetness.

Then Alfred whispered his name.

"Artie...I..."

Well, it was more of a slurred mumbled than a whisper, but there was something in it made Arthur swing his arms properly round the American, which could be considered quite a feat, seeing as Arthur was really quite small, and Alfred was rather broad and muscled.

"You just want to jump my bones, I know." Arthur whispered back, and for another few seconds, they were alone.

That is, until something heavy and warm hit his back and made the Brit topple over into Alfred, who in turn sprawled onto the floor, twisting impossibly and dragging Francis down with him.

Of course, Francis made a huge show about it, even in the few seconds he was falling; in those few seconds, the Frenchman had somehow caused a full-scale people-pile, constructed mainly with the unsuspecting TV-watchers, who untidily took up half of Arthur's living room.

The Brit was vaguely aware of Alfred groaning underneath him in apparent pain, and the excited jitters of someone on top of him. When he finally managed to extract himself from the people-sandwich, he surveyed the giggling war-zone that was now his living room. His eyes fell on Mattie, who had managed to push Ivan onto Yao. The two were now cuddled up underneath Tino and Berwald. Somewhere, Arthur could here Lovino complaining loudly and Antonio trying to get him to be quiet in soft tones of Spanish.

Arthur collapsed onto the sofa besides Mattie, trying to avoid the other blonde's eyes.

"I think," Mattie began, softly "That Feliciano thought it was group hug time." Ah, so that was who had attacked Arthur.

There was another awkward pause. Some part of Arthur's mind noted to fading giggles of the drunken pile. It seemed that his drunken friends were falling asleep right there on the floor, with Alfred somewhere underneath them.

"I'm sorry about my brother's actions." Mattie said "He really can't hold his alcohol" Matties voice dropped several octaves "Or his desires"

"That's quite alright." Arthur said, happy that Mattie was being so amiable about it.

Wait. What.

'**BROTHER**?" Arthur very nearly screamed into Mattie's face. The other blonde flinched and nodded furiously. Arthur was completely flabbergasted for a few seconds, as he let amazement and something that felt oddly like relief was through him.

_That was where he had met Mattie before- he was Alfred's brother! Mattie was that tiny blonde who said nothing when he visited two years ago! He was at that godforsaken pool party!_

The only sounds that Arthur could form were strange, alien croaking ones that did not sound as if they belonged to him. Mattie smiled at him in a way that was impossibly understanding, and gently pulled the Brit up and began leading him into the kitchen.

"I thought you two were...Together..." Arthur managed to get out, as Mattie sat him down on one of the chairs, and cleared a small space out of all the bottles on the table.

"You aren't the first one to come to that conclusion" Mattie said, as he began filling up the kettle "Alfred and I...We're awfully close. Even for siblings who live hundreds of miles away from each other."

Arthur could see it now- why the two looked so alike, why Mattie was so casual with Alfred, and why Alfred was so excited about seeing the little Canadian.

Arthur stared at Mattie's back for a moment, then round at the Kitchen. It was surprisingly empty; Arthur had expected at least a few people to be milling around in there, but he came to the conclusion that whoever was once in here was now on the floor, asleep in the other room, or (hopefully not) doing weird and wonderful (as it was common for Arthur's friends to do) deeds in Arthur's bedroom.

Really, only _Arthur's_ friends could do things like pass out in his living room, or practice the art of bondage right next to Arthur's Paddington bear collection, which was actually placed there to ward off such acts.

Sometimes, Arthur wondered why he bothered.

There was a strange form of companionable silence for a while, until Mattie poured two mugs of steaming tea and set one on front of the Brit, who shot the Canadian a thankful smile.

"Did Alfred ever tell you about that time when he was eight? About the hippo?"

And when Arthur shook his head, Mattie grinned and launched into a long tale.

It was well into the night when the two stopped talking, ribs aching from trying not to laugh too loudly; for fear they would wake the slumbering drunkards in the other room.

Arthur was all set to show Mattie the guest bedroom, then call it a night in his own, but as they approached, the unmistakable sound of a giggling Elizaveta and a growling Gilbert had them backtracking from the oak door very quickly indeed.

So the two ended up sharing Arthur's bed, which surprisingly wasn't awkward; The two were very tired, and the bed very large and roomy. Sexual tension was nil too which was not very surprising as Arthur has silently claimed Mattie as his unofficial little brother, and Mattie was (as the Canadian had confessed earlier) infatuated with Francis, much to Arthur's amazement, after all; _why would someone sweet like Mattie want someone like Francis?_

The world really was full of mysteries.

Arthur's foremost mystery being Alfred, whom he had yet to figure out.

And after the Brit and Canadian gave each other one last, tired smile, they both fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. Aftermath

**Chapter 4: Aftermath**

**A/n- I was pleasantly surprised when I checked my inbox- SO MANY ALERTS! Thank you!**

**And my dear reviewers are just as lovely as ever- You guys actually make my day. Home life is a little...Rocky... at the moment, but I can actually rely on you guys! Thank you so much!**

The morning had brought with it only a few stragglers from the night before, the loudest being Gilbert, and the quietest being Mattie. The others in between tried their best to ignore the 'Prussian' but to no avail; the hungover Albino was exceptionally loud and grouchy. Elizaveta eventually roused from her slumber in Arthur's guest bedroom, and hit him over the head with one of Arthur's frying pans, essentially knocking the albino out. Then the Hungarian merely stepped over Gilbert's slumped figure and calmly sat herself at the kitchen table, along with Ludwig and Feliciano. Mattie appeared to be making pancakes for everyone and Arthur internally cooed from where he leant on the kitchen door-frame.

Alfred, along with Francis and pretty much everyone one else had made it home at some point before Arthur and Mattie woke up. Some small part of Arthur wondered if Francis was passed out on his front step again, like last years Christmas party, but on further inspection the Frenchman was (thankfully) no-where to be seen. Of course, the absence of Francis put a bit of a damper on Mattie's mood, and to the well trained eye it was visible that the Canadian was drooping a little as he slapped a stack of pancakes onto a confused looking Ivan's plate (he was always a little disorientated after a night drinking, due to the fact he would often lose his pipe at some point or another. An Ivan without his pipe is a very confused Ivan indeed)

Once Arthur joined the motley bunch at the table, there were several minutes of contented chewing and groaning (the groaning came from Gilbert, who was still slumped on the floor and just coming too after being hit with the Frying pan. No-one had bothered to move him.), until Feliciano piped up (which was inevitably going to happen at some point)

"Why was Alfred crying last night, ve?"

The munching ceased for a second, and everyone stared at the little Italian, who was perched on a blushing Ludwig's knee.

"What?" Arthur said, not a small amount of concern washing through him at the thought of the American upset.

"I woke up in the middle of the night, and he was just coming down the stairs- I could see him through a crack in the door- and he was crying a little. I think he knew I saw 'cuz when he was gathering his stuff up he bent down and ruffled my hair before he left. It was weird, ve. Then I fell back asleep on Ludwig."

The German blushed even more.

Mattie looked as worried as Arthur felt, Elizaveta looked a little upset too. Gilbert moaned in pain on the floor and it seemed that Ivan had come to his senses slightly.

"My pipe?" The Russian croaked "Yao and my Pipe are gone!"

Arthur held back a wail of anguish. Gilbert let his out as he rolled onto his stomach on Arthur's kitchen floor, clutching his head. Apart from that and Ivan's incoherent mumbling, the kitchen was deathly silent, each worrying about their American friend.

Feliciano sat with his arms crossed and a worried frown on his face. "Maybe..." The Italian said thoughtfully "Maybe he was just really drunk? _fratello_sometimes cries when he's drunk, but only if you tread on his toes. Maybe someone treaded on Alfred's toes? Or even-"

Ludwig silenced the little Italian's ramblings by placing his hand of the Italian's mouth. Feliciano looked up at him through his lashes and blinked several times.

Several things happened at once; Elizaveta squealed at the 'cute yaoi' and started gushing in Hungarian, Ivan suddenly screamed loudly as if in agony and loped in an almost ape-like way out the room, and all the while Gilbert writhed on the floor, trying to grab attention.

Arthur stood up, shot a grave look at Mattie, who was sat cross-legged on the dining chair, his brow furrowed; obviously worried for his brother. The Canadian looked up at met the Brit's gaze.

"I'm going to Alfred's." Arthur said, barely repressing a sigh at the sight he knew he'd see once he reached the American's house; Alfred, curled up on his sofa in his jimjams, watching awful daytime TV and eating ice-cream- all while sniffling through a box of tissues at some great tragedy. "Can you stay here and...Make sure they don't hurt themselves or my house?"

Mattie gave the Brit a small nod and smile, and when to help Gilbert up off the floor. The Albino was cursing loudly in German. Arthur heard a loud splash coming from upstairs and Ivan roaring something in Russian. Ludwig pushed Feliciano gently off his lap to go see what the Russian had done.

Arthur made his way past Mattie, who was helping Gilbert onto the sofa, and headed for the cupboard under the stairs where he kept his coats. Ludwig yelled something rather loudly in German, which was then followed by "_Mein Gott,_Ivan! Get OUT of the toilet! I'll help you find your pipe and I'll drive you over to Yao's! NOW GET OUT THIS INSTANT."

Arthur winced at the mental image of Ivan in his toilet as he pulled his coat on and grabbed his car keys. He wasn't sure about anyone else, but the Brit didn't particularly like people standing in his toilet. It was a bit disconcerting, to say the least. Especially if it involved Ivan.

The last thing the Brit heard before he shut the door was Ivan, Ludwig and Gilbert (who had joined in with his dislike for the Russian) screaming at each other.

And today was going to be just like the last:

Full of chaos.


	5. Sulk

**Chapter 5: Sulk**

**A/N- I'm Sorry for the late update...I really am. I Just want you to know I will NEVER give up on this fic. Ever.**

**Did you know how many times I had to spellcheck the name 'Arthur'? It's like I can't type that ONE WORD or something. It came out as 'Arblugh', 'Armur' and once "Affrurt'**

**I need sleep.**

_**Italics**___**is generally Arthur's thoughts, or emphasis on words.**

**This is unbetaed. Forgive me. I feel like I couldn't write today.**

In the space of less than thirty minutes, Arthur found himself sat next to Alfred who refused to look at him.

And the scary thing was that he actually looked really grim- not like the sniffing, sulky Alfred he'd expected.

It began when Arthur let himself in, and found Alfred sat staring into space in his living room, the curtains drawn and the TV off (an anomaly in the American's house).

Arthur hadn't known what to do, but something told him that Alfred was meant to speak first. So the Brit gingerly perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, eying the taller man in an almost wary way.

Arthur could hear the old grandfather clock in the hall, ticking.

_tick tick tick_

"Do you love him? You'd better not hurt him."

Arthur choked on his own spit; Alfred was a madman.

"What, my imaginary boyfriend, you mean?" Arthur tried to sound nonchalant while he plotted how he could knock-out Alfred without getting blood on the carpet; the American would never agree to go see a psychiatrist consciously.

And Alfred's carpet really was quite lovely.

Alfred looked at the Brit out of the corner of his eye. His features twisted into a softer emotion that accusing, but the look still made Arthur feel uncomfortable.

"So you ARE gay." It was a statement.

_Oh. Right,_Arthur thought, _Am I, now? I wouldn't say so, but..._

"My imaginary boyfriend is my only exception" Arthur deadpanned.

Alfred made a vague noise of acknowledgement, and the two were plunged into uncomfortable silence again.

Arthur found that it was nice when Alfred was this still. It meant that Arthur could look at him properly; Usually the boisterous American was so jumpy that it was hard to look at him, but now the Brit could.

Alfred had a rather nice nose. Straight. His lips were soft and pink, though a little bit red where the American currently nibbled on in an almost anxious way, And his eyes...

Arthur could look at them all day. It's best when one had a full-on view, though. It was a shame that he was facing Alfred's profile...

Ah, that could be rectified; Arthur's pale hand reached up and cupped Alfred's cheek that was facing away from him, and gently turned the older man's face until Arthur could see Alfred full-on.

"What are you doing?" Alfred whispered, looking oddly hopeful. For what, Arthur couldn't fathom, but the American was so bi-polar that Arthur felt he was used to such shifts in mood.

"Admiring you." The Brit whispered back, and wasn't particularly surprised when Alfred's eyes turned cold and hard.

"Stop playing with me, dammit!" Alfred exclaimed, and wrenched himself up from the sofa and stalked into the kitchen. Arthur followed.

As he stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched Alfred pace and send him dirty looks, Arthur felt oddly... disappointed. Alfred wasn't gay. Alfred didn't like Arthur touching him like that...

_Perhaps I'm Bi-polar too._

Suddenly, everything blurred and tilted.

"What about Mattie, huh? You just gonna hurt him like that? And are you gonna keep hurting ME, Arthur?"

Arthur didn't know quite what had happened, but he was suddenly aware that he was lying on the cold kitchen floor, being pinned down by Alfred, who appeared to be breathing heavily. Perhaps he was having a seizure? Arthur wriggled a bit.

"What ABOUT Mattie? I thought this was about my imaginary boyfriend?" Arthur wriggled some more "Let me up, you sod!"

Alfred faltered a little, looking suddenly unsure as he eyed Arthur with something akin to distrust.

"Your Imaginary Boyfriend and Mattie aren't the same person?"

Arthur burst out laughing at the though of kissing or doing anything remotely sexual with Mattie. Alfred whined.

"Answer me, Artie!"

Arthur, still spluttering, gave Alfred a lopsided grin

"No." Said the Brit "Now let me up, would you?"

Alfred pulled himself up off Arthur, then reached down to pull the smaller man up, the two stood, with Arthur's hands in Alfred's for longer than necessary. Arthur was smiling at the irony of Alfred thinking he and Mattie were together. Alfred still looked a little confused.

"Why exactly was he sleeping in your bed?" The American asked, dropping Arthur's hands. The Brit's fingers burned from loss of contact. Alfred turned and started moving towards the doorway leading into the living room, Arthur followed.

"I figured you saw that" Arthur said as she settled himself down on the squishy sofa next to Alfred, so close their thighs touched. Arthur couldn't stop wanting to touch the taller man for some reason "'Gil and 'Liz were in the spare...I didn't want Mattie to sleep on the floor. Besides. I've claimed him as my little brother."

Alfred swore loudly, then turned to stare at Arthur with wide, terrified eyes "That wouldn't make us...related would it?" He looked so horrified at the idea that Arthur threw his head back and laughed.

"Why wouldn't you want to be related to me?" The Brit asked, cocking his head to one side as he smiled.

Alfred shifted uncomfortably "Well" He mumbled, somehow managing to pale and blush at the same time; his cheeks suddenly devoid of colour but his nose became an odd shade of purple. Arthur found it strangely fascinating. "It would make it harder to jump your bones"

Arthur had almost forgotten about that. It worried him that the idea wasn't scary. "Ah." The Brit said, leaning back "That"

Alfred leaned his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands "What do you mean; 'That'?" His voice was muffled a little "I don't understand how you can discuss something like this so calmly. Your MALE best friend has just told you that he wants to jump you bones AGAIN."

Arthur shook his head in a bemused fashion "I don't understand either...But I didn't think you were actually gay"

Alfred mumbled something.

Arthur leaned down towards him "What was that?"

Alfred lifted his head up out of his hands to look at the Brit dead in the eye "You're my exception"

Alfred really WAS bi-polar, it seemed.


	6. Kiss

**Chapter 6: Kiss**

**A/n- Ahh, it seems my chapters are getting shorter. I knocked this out in about half an hour. So, yeah.**

**On another note, I got to see my albino hedgehog's baby properly of the first time. It was adorable!**

**As always, my reviewers continue to be the light of my life. Thank you, guys!**

Arthur was for some reason deliriously happy when Alfred said he was going back to the Brits too. The feeling vanished once he and Alfred had parked the Brit's car in the drive and got out; Loud yells in both Russian, German and French (It seemed Francis had re-joined the 'party') could be heard as Arthur and Alfred made their way up the garden path.

Their fast walk quickly turned into a sprint once a loud explosion sounded from round the back of the house, followed by a loud 'Woo!' and a metallic clang. Arthur felt like hitting Alfred when the taller man fumbled with the doorknob in his haste, but quickly caught himself once he saw how cute and flushed Alfred looked, with his teeth biting down on his full lower lip in concentration-

And the door opened. Arthur mentally berated himself for buying such a tricky door while Alfred hurried upstairs, where most of the Russian and German swearwords were originating from (along with a lot of...splashing sounds?) Arthur shook his head as he made his way into the living room, hoping to locate the source of the explosion. The Brit paused as he caught sight of Francis, passed out on the rug. Arthur grimaced as the Frenchman slurped noisily in his slumber (?) and drooled attractively onto the fabric. Mattie was sat with an almost traumatized look on his face, staring not quite at Francis, but not quite at anything else either.

"I...I'm sorry." The Canadian whispered.

Arthur blanched. This wasn't good.

"What for?" The Brit's voice was hoarse.

Mattie merely gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, and put his head in his hands.

Somewhere upstairs, Arthur could hear Alfred and Ludwig having a shouting match with Ivan upstairs. Someone (Ludwig?) threatened to call Yao if the Russian didn't stop whatever he was doing. Everything up there went deathly silent after one wail of anguish in Russian.

Arthur practically sprinted into the kitchen. He swayed a little in horror at what he saw, but somehow managed to stay standing and mentally intact.

The kitchen window was once again in little pieces, just as Gilbert was once again lay unconscious underneath it, little slivers of glass glinting on his clothes. The kitchen sink, obviously broken, spurted water everywhere. A drenched and panting Elizaveta stood over Gilbert, holding Arthur's favourite frying pan (Betsy). Someone (Feliciano) whimpered in the corner of the room. Arthur payed them no heed as he stood, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Elizaveta turned to speak to him, but the Brit silenced here with one wave of his long, pale fingers.

"My...My..." Arthur swallowed, feeling his rage build inside him "My WIIIINDOW!"

It took a long time to get everyone calmed down and out of the house, but Arthur and Alfred did it. Ludwig picked up a sobbing Feliciano and took him home, Yao came to pick up Ivan (Who brightened up considerably after seeing the Chinese man). Francis took Mattie home for some 'consoling', and Elizaveta tried multiple times to explain what had happened, but frankly the Brit didn't want to know. Eventually the Hungarian women gave up, and took Gilbert home, who had come to not long after Arthur's outburst. The Prussian had stumbled about asking people who he was, until he remembered and made loud howling noises, and Alfred had gagged him with one of Arthur's floral handkerchiefs.

It took quite a while for the builders to arrive (Who looked pretty bewildered after being told they had to replace the glass in the same window so soon after the first replacement). Alfred tried his hand at mechanics by fixing the kitchen sink (which was still spraying water at the squealing builders). After Arthur re-appeared after attempting to clean the bathroom of Ivan's mess, he didn't think that Alfred's 'duct-tape and paper-clip combo' was very durable, even if it was very sweet.

The builders had eventually left, leaving a lovely new window Arthur longed to stroke (only he felt odd with Alfred watching him) and a coupon stating that if their service was required a third time, Arthur would get twenty percent off. The Brit pocketed the slip of paper happily, feeling that if his friends carried on with their psycho streak, it would come in handy.

Arthur and Alfred eventually collapsed onto the sofa in front of a comedy program Arthur couldn't quite understand. The Brit did, however, find it endearing how Alfred's nose crinkled up when he laughed, and how his lips stretched back to reveal perfect, white teeth.

Before Arthur knew what he was doing, he had stretched up and pecked the American on the cheek.

"Thank you." The smaller man whispered, looking up into the American's eyes.

"What for?" Alfred breathed back. Arthur shivered slightly, the moved to lean heavily onto the American, snuggling tiredly into the crook of the taller man's neck, not missing his delirious grin.

"I think you know"


	7. Candle

**Chapter 7: Candles**

**A/N- Hello, sorry once again for the late update. I've had a truly**_**horrible**___**weekend- My baby hedgehog died; poor baby was born with no eyes...**

**I think that's something that's going to stay with me for a long time, and I'm truly sorry if this chapter reflects my current mood...**

**For those who don't know, and Aga is a type of oven. My Gran has one. They are kind of expensive, and some are old-fashioned.**

**Thank you for the flood of reviews! There are so many! And they all made me smile so much-!**

**and Cupcakes-et-Sammiches, I know you're the Anon that calls herself 'Bob' nice try, doll ;)**

When Arthur woke up this time, he was lying down on his sofa with his favourite red wool blanket draped over him.

The Brit sat up, letting the folds of fabric pool at his waist. Rubbing at his eyes, he was vaguely aware of his rumbling stomach and a heavenly scent coming from somewhere..

Pulling himself up, the Brit tottered, still woozy from sleep, to the kitchen doorway, and the sight he was greeted with made him inadvertently smile.

"Alfred, are you _cooking?_" The question was dry and sharp, yet there was no small amount of amusement piled up behind the words. The American turned round from the pot he was stirring on the hub of Arthur's Aga, grinning sheepishly.

"More like re-heating.." Alfred said "Feli brought it round while you were sleeping. He seems to think that earlier was his fault"

There was a moment of silence as they gazed at each other. Alfred's grin melted into something much softer and more...kissable? Arthur felt his face heating up. Alfred returned to stirring pasta sauce and spaghetti.

Arthur sat himself down at the table, which was actually set up quite nicely; Alfred had dredged up an old white table cloth from Arthur's tea party days, a whicker bread basket and gold placemats, all set up with one lit, vanilla scented candle.

Wait.

A candle.

A lone candle

Arthur stared in horror at the wax-dripping arrangement.

_'Isn't a candle something you usually have on a...D-date?'_

The cogs in Arthur's brain began whirring. '_Yes, That's right...dates...Like the Lady and the Tramp, and that chick flick Elizaveta and Adele made me watch the other day. And this candle is VANILLA SCENTED. is that some sort of...sexual hint? OH GOD. ALFRED WANTS TO TOP ME.'_

Arthur's mental rambling increased ten-fold as Alfred set a plate of steaming pasta in front of the trembling Brit, and then set down his own plate and tucked in.

_'Right, if this contains meatballs, he wants me to top, Am I right? God, I'm no good at this subliminals thing'_Arthur dug around in his pasta, searching for the suspected meaty product. There was none. _'huh, I guess he's topping. Strange. I would've thought that I would be the seme'_

Arthur gave Alfred a slow once over; that mocking candle casting teasing shadows over the gorgeous contour of the taller man's face, and once Arthur lowered his eyes, until the green orbs met toned, strong looking arms and a broad, muscular chest. Arthur thought that the only way to describe his own body would be 'lithe' and that was the most complementary of the Brit's mental Thesaurus.

_'Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if Alfred topped, after all.'_

Alfred looked up and met the Brit's gaze. Arthur felt that whole disconcerting 'the-world-is-slowing-as-our-eyes-meet' feeling. Alfred simply grinned and reached for his water.

Arthur gaped _'How can you act so cool about this, Alfred? There's a candle between us! A CANDLE. And you're going to top. Are you happy now, tosser? I bet because for you I'll get hooked to kinky sex and cocaine, and I'll talk you into a hot foursome with your_brother _and the frog. And then you'll leave me for the wine bastard and Mattie (who is damn adorable, but still, HE'S YOUR BROTHER.) Oh god you have the hots for your brother. I should've known- I'm so not ready for this!'_

Arthur's mental rambling halted suddenly as Alfred finished his pasta and stood up, smiling down on Arthur with a smile incredibly soft in the candlelight.

"I'd best be going." The American said with a wink "You look knackered."

Arthur gaped as Alfred strolled out _'what about the SEX?'_Instead of voicing this, though, Arthur simply hurried after the taller man, meeting him at the door, just as he was stepping out.

"Alfred." Arthur said "I-I. Well. I…You see…It's…Uhh…"

Alfred turned to face the Brit, and in an instant, Arthur's lips were covered by something warm and soft and surprisingly gentle. It seemed that it had ended before it was started. Alfred had started to pull away, before Arthur grabbed the back of the American's head and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. Alfred's arms wrapped round Arthur's middle, and the Brits fingers found their way into silky golden locks.

It seemed like they stayed there forever, kissing in the soft evening light, on Arthur's porch in the warm air.

But like most good things, it came to an end.

When Arthur's eyes re-focused, the first thing he saw was Alfred's dazed face, his blue eyes cloudy and his lips swollen. Not to mention his hair, which was sticking up at all angles.

It was, in short, adorable.

Over Alfred's shoulder, Arthur could vaguely make out his seventy-year-old neighbor, Miss Merrythort, gaping at him from over her picket fence across the street.

Arthur gently pushed Alfred back, with a pseudo-irritable murmur of "Piss off before I rope you into doing the washing-up"

And with that, Arthur pivoted on one heel, leaving Alfred to laugh in the dying light of the day on the porch.


	8. Ant

**Chapter 8: Ant**

**A/N- Hello again, I'm sorry for the long wait :| Fanfiction . net decided to die, but thanks to a helpful forum I MANAGED TO UPDATE THIS.**

**TAKE THAT ERROR TYPE 2**

**LIKE A BOSS.**

**And I know an ant outbreak of this scale is highly unlikely, but humor me, please.**

Arthur didn't quite know how he'd react if Alfred visited again the next day; so when his doorbell rang as he was washing up, his heart gave a funny little start, like he'd been electrocuted. Or stabbed. Or something like that. Arthur wasn't quite sure he was completely sane anymore, thanks to the American appearing and making his life a bloody, slushy mess.

Drying his hands on a towel, he made his way to the door, shaking slightly. It was really a shame his legs were so wobbly- less than a foot from the door Arthur's left ankle twisted in a way that should've been painful, but wasn't because of all the adrenaline rushing through his body.

_'Really, adrenaline? Just because I'm about to see Alfred? Ridiculous.'_Were Arthur's last thoughts before he tripped and his head connected painfully with the door.

It was when he heard a leering laugh that sounded quite like "Honhonhonhon" coming from the other side of the door, that Arthur knew it wasn't a certain blue-eyed American at the door, but rather, his French 'friend'.

Arthur swore a bit under his breath, and still on four legs, he reached up to open the door, falling back onto his heels and clutching his head in pain as it swung open.

Francis stood on the porch, looking far too amused and far too smug in what looked like some hideous sombrero-Hawaiian get up. Arthur removed his hands from his head and gaped at the Frenchman, who stared back at Arthur.

"You are not wearing that in my house" Arthur managed to choke out- Francis's outfit looked like the love child of Lady GaGa and a luau. Who wears a sombrero anywhere outside a fancy dress party nowadays? And what kind of shirt was that? Pink silk with green Hawaiian style flowers? Arthur felt his eyes sting at the mere sight of the offending garments. He pulled himself up, and stumbled into the living room, trying to burn the images from his mind. He heard Francis come in and close the door as he piped up.

"You greet me while on your knees, and beg me to take of my clothes? _Oui_, visiting you IS better than that maid-cafe Kiku likes so much!" Arthur gave a tired groan as he settled himself down in the armchair in the living room, closely followed by the Frenchman, who settled himself down on the sofa, somehow seeming to fill it right up with his long limbs.

"So, about the party-" Francis started

"Shut up about that sodding party!" Arthur murmured, leaning his head on the back of his chair and massaging his temples- though the party had ended well (kind of) it wasn't something he wanted to live through again. Feliciano had sent him roses (though the sweet little Italian hadn't actually done anything wrong) this morning, along with an apology note from Ludwig, who disclosed the information that Gilbert was in the hospital with a mild concussion, and Ivan was in therapy with 'mild' (Arthur snorted) schizophrenia.

"-What happened in the morning? After I left?" Francis continued, a smirk on his face as he too lent back and began stroking his beard. Arthur shuddered

"Ivan started playing in my toilet, and Gilbert broke MY WINDOW and Feliciano seems to think it's all his fault and keeps sending me roses. And please at _least_remove that DISGUSTING sombrero. It clashes with your ugly face"

Francis gave a whoop of laughter, then the rest of Arthur's comments sank in and he sneered "It's all the rage in the catwalks in my beloved _Paris_" The frenchmans expression took on a dreamy-like quality, and he sighed "The fashion in my wonderful motherland-! Stunning!"

Arthur snorted "Stunning, you got that right"

Francis shot the Brit a half hearted glare, and leaned forward, in a business-like manner.

"So, about you, and our little American friend...Have you two partaken in the miracle that is physical love?"

Arthur blanched, but managed to conceal his sudden horror by looking Francis dead in the eye "Why the hell should I tell you? French sod."

Francis grinned "I guess that means 'no'. Well, when a man and a...man...love each other very much they-"

Arthur made a ghastly noise that was somewhere in between a sob, choke and a wail. He couldn't believe it. Francis was giving him the sex talk in a sombrero. And a Hawaiian shirt. It was all so weird and embarrassing that Arthur quite wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Or Francis whole. Either way, as long as it stopped, Arthur didn't really care.

Then Francis squealed. It was so loud and (unsurprisingly) girlish that Arthur jumped up out of seat on instinct, and saw Francis clutching his bare (?) foot.

"What the hell?" Arthur griped, hands on his hips as he glared down at the Frenchman "First you give me the sex talk in that..._thing_"-this was punctuated with a wave of Arthur's hands in the direction of Francis's outlandish outfit-"And now you're squealing like a stuck pig? What is wrong with you? And put some shoes on! Your feet are disgusting!"

"_Le Fourmi!"_It appeared that Francis was so freaked out that he reverted back to his mother tongue. Arthur inspected Francis's foot with disdain, until he spied a little black moving dot on the Frenchman's foot.

An ant.

"Really, Francis?" Arthur said, and with a swipe, the ant was gone. Francis whimpered, and inspected Arthur's fluffy beige carpet for where the ant landed. He squealed again, and threw himself up onto Arthur's sofa, Groaning and wailing.

Arthur checked his carpet, and did a double take.

His carpet was teeming with ants.

Arthur gave a quiet gasp, while he didn't mind the little insects there were certainly hundreds here and it made him shudder. He did a strange combination of hopping, skipping and jumping until he reached the kitchen, ignoring Francis who was openly crying.

Arthur's lino floor was covered with the little black bugs, and they congregated round a plate of Arthur's cooking (Sludge.).

With an anguished cry for his lost cooking, Arthur ran to the phone, hoping those nice builders did pest control.

They didn't.

However, Prokill did, and it took them less than 30 minutes to arrive after Arthur called (well, screamed down the phone). The Brit spent the 30 minutes sat with his legs hunched up trying to shut Francis up and thinking to himself _'How the hell did I miss those...things?'_

When they arrived, the two men in overalls stepped round Arthur's living room and kitchen, and one ventured upstairs, and shouted down with the dreaded words; "They're up here too!" Arthur's stomach sank.

When they had done observing (though Arthur reckoned they were silently laughing at the hopeless situation) The tallest, a man with a handlebar mustache, a long blonde plait and a name-tag that read 'Earl', sat next to Arthur and the sobbing Francis on the sofa.

"Right," Earl's voice had a soft mexican twang, which kind of reminded Arthur of Alfred "I don't think I've seen this many ants since...A long time. But something attracted 'em. I think it was that rotting plate of debris on the counter in there" Arthur bristled-that was his cooking! "But I have no idea how they got in here, mister Arthur, sir."

"Probably when the window broke the other day" Arthur said sadly, giving Francis a instinctive pat on the back. The Frenchman had reached the hiccups and sniffing stage. 'How long will it take to remove them?"

Earl's smile was sudden, and almost pitying. Arthur's heart sunk "Per'raps a week; Ewan an' me," Earl gestured to the kitchen, where Arthur could hear the other man bustling about, obviously trying to take action "We'll have to fumigate the buggers. Mister Arthur, you'll have to go live somewhere else 'fer a week."

Both the Pest control employee and Arthur turned to look at a hiccuping Francis, who hadn't yet taken in Earl's last sentence, but when he did, his eyes went wide and terrified, and the blue orbs bored into Arthur's skull almost painfully. Arthur flinched away slightly.

"_Ah, Non."_Francis whispered, suddenly wrenching himself up and pointing a manicured accusatory finger at Arthur "The English pig-dog will call them to me, now he knows how much I hate _les Fourmi_! ANT WHISPERER!" Francis cried and shot out the house sombrero flapping slightly. Arthur sighed and Earl shifted uncomfortably. Arthur could see out the living room window that Francis appeared to be running home barefoot. Arthur toyed briefly with burning Francis's shoes (which were no doubt still sat on his porch) in some sort if Satanic ritual to make sure he never saw the Frenchman again.

Arthur heaved himself up, and looked down at Earl who was staring at him expectantly.

"I have someone who'll take me in" Arthur walked out into the hallway, looking a lot braver than he felt, and grabbed the phone, ignoring any ants that crawled over his black leather slacks.

And he dialed Alfred's number.


	9. Suitcase

**Chapter 9: Suitcase**

**A/N- Am I really childish enough that when I saw I had 69 reviews I lol'd?**

**Yes, Yes I am.**

**Thank you so much. Sorry for the long wait, though...I've been feeling kind of...off recently. According to online doctor-thingies I'm either pregnant or have some kind of horrible disease with a long name.**

**OH, THANKYOU MOLLY (Cupcakes-et-Sammiches) FOR THE INSPIRATION AND ANTS. ILU BABE!11!11one**

**Sorry 'bout the pen-name change, and the shortness of the chapter :|**

It turned out Alfred was more than happy to have him, ecstatic, even. Arthur noted with no small amount of fondness that whatever Alfred had been drinking after the Brit made his request was spat out and Alfred had squealed something- being the manly man he is- and offered to pick up Arthur immediately.

The Brit had put the phone down with a grin so wide it was painful, then hurried upstairs. He hauled his suitcase off the top off his wardrobe, noting with distaste and faint alarm that he had to shake ants out of it.

hardly deterred, the Brit began emptying his drawers, and hurriedly shaking out his clothes, before stuffing them in the suitcase. His OCD flared up at the lack of folding, but really, he just wanted to get out of this Ant-infested ''ell 'ole' as, _dear, dear_ Francis would say.

He dragged the suitcase down the stairs, relishing in the dull thump-thump of the heavy leather as it hit the carpet. Arthur dearly hoped he had wiped out at least _some_ants.

Earl popped his head out into the hallway.

"Ah, Mister Arthur!" He said "I take it your friend will have you 'awwight?"

Arthur gave the man a nod and a smile; "yes, thank you."

Earl gave a relieved smile, then popped back into the living room. Arthur could hear him whooping, the sound of cymbals crashing (it seemed they had figured out how to use his ancient stereo, though he was not familiar with the artist) and Ewan screaming "You gets 'dose little blighters, Earl!"

Arthur whimpered slightly, and shifted from foot to foot a little once he heard some ominous crashing in the kitchen.

_'My window. Oh god please don't let it be my window.'_

Before the Brit could go investigate, the sound of screeching tires, and Alfred's obnoxious fog-horned themed horn blared outside.

Arthur, gave a sigh, and lugged his suitcase outside and onto the garden path, trying to block an enthusiastically waving Earl in his living room window. Alfred hopped out of his flashy red convertable and gave the Brit a hand pushing the suitcase into the trunk.

"We'd best hurry. Mean Girls is on" Alfred said, climbing back into the car. Arthur noticed with distaste that Alfred did not open the car doors, but rather hauled himself over it. The Brit did not want to attempt such a stunt, and opted for the 'usual way'.

It wasn't until they had driven half way to Alfred's house that Arthur realized that the American had mentioned Mean Girls.

For the second time that day, Arthur felt like crying.

Somehow, teen chick flicks just didn't sit well with Arthur; the Brit could barely keep still.

And his fidgeting DID NOT have ANYTHING to do with Alfred's arm around him. Nuh-uh. No way.

Okay, maybe it did. Just a little bit...


	10. Bed

**Chapter 10: Bed**

**A/N- I AM SO SOORY FOR THE WAIT. I had tests and a cold and ugh I feel bad now.**

**Oh, I'm not pregnant-! I can't even get a boyfriend, let alone a baby...Not that I really want either at the 'mo... I'm a bit young...well, for a bay anyway- But on the boyfriend front I think I'm just FOREVER ALONE.**

**THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS AGDASGDHSGFJSDHG**

**THANKYOU EVERYONE AND I LOVE YOU TO PIECES, NEVER STOP BEING AWESOME**

**Tl;Dr I'm sorry for the wait...I love you.**

Watching a horror movie after Mean Girls was a horrible idea, really.

Alfred was known for over-reacting when it came to stuff like that; like climbing through Arthur's window at 2AM, or breaking into the Brit's house or-

In all honesty, the American only really went to the Brit for comfort, which was quite sweet, but a little bit creeper-ish at the same time. Arthur had once- a long time ago (or was it only two years ago? My, time flies) resorted to locking every possible entry to the house, but he had given up doing that after when he saw Alfred after the American's failed trespassing attempts, he always looked really down and tired. Arthur had felt sorry for him.

he didn't feel so sorry for the American now...

The Brit suddenly wished he was anywhere, anywhere but Alfred's bed- because not only was it hard to keep his hands to himself, but it was pretty bad knowing that Alfred was sound asleep while he was not. He had also never done this before- sleep in a bed with Alfred. They had slept on a couch together, and the floor, and once a kitchen counter, but never-NEVER- in a bed.

It was pretty intimate.

The second the word 'intimate' flooded Arthur's brain, he flushed madly, and thought of Francis's sex-talk, and the sombrero...the Brit's

hands flew to his face, and covered the heated skin in the dark.

Arthur felt horrible for thinking about Alfred in this way (even though the American had already openly confessed to thinking about Arthur this way) and- oh my god- He kind of wanted to run his hands across the American's torso, and down to-

Arthur gave a quiet gasp, and sat up abruptly, catching sight of the clock on Alfred's bedside table- it was just past half-three in the morning. Arthut groaned and rubbed his eyes. He turned to face the American.

"It's your fault" The Brit whispered. "I just can't sleep next to y- oh!"

Alfred's eyes had snapped open.

"You were faking sleep too?" He inquired, stretching leisurely.

"I-I...Yes..." Arthur mumbled, and lay awkwardly back down, not quite sure if he was meant to leave or not.

The dilemma was solved once Alfred rolled closer to him, and flung an arm round the Brit's waist, and snuggled his face into Arthur's neck.

The Brit squeaked in a very _manly_(Arthur told himself) way, and then relaxed into the intoxicating heat that radiated from Alfreds (extremely close) body.

"I wish I'd done this six hours ago" Alfred murmured into Arthur's ear "That way we would've both been fast asleep by now..."

Alfred's voice trailed off softly, and like clockwork, Arthur too felt sleep engulf him.

He expected to wake up feeling headachy and tired, but instead the Brit woke surprisingly chipper- a rarity, even when he'd had a full nights sleep. Arthur credited this to Alfred, who was still snuggled up to him and snoozing steadily.

Arthur shifted, and rolled over so he was facing Alfred, and promptly snuggled into the taller man's bare chest and inhaled the musky, sweet scent that made him slightly lightheaded, He was in a strangely huggy mood, it seemed.

Alfred gave a sleepy groan, and removed his hand that was curled round Arthur's waist to rub his eyes. He looked down at the brit with hazy orbs of blue and a sweet smile.

"Morning" He murmured softly, hugging the Brit firmly to his chest, and kissing atop his head. Arthur murmured in incoherent approval.

After a few minutes of snuggling, Arthur tilted his head, so he could kiss Alfred on the lips.

The American eagerlt returned it, and soon the had rolled over so that Alfred hovered above the Brit, leaning on his elbows and assaulting the Brit's lips with his own.

After a few minutes of fervent making out (that Arthur knew he'd regret a bit later- he barely understood his feelings as it was. He really didn't need an impromptu make-out session complicating things further)

Alfred eventually pulled away, making Arthur want to whine at the loss of contact.  
>"I'm gonna go make toast" The American said, breathless "I'm starving."<p>

He jumped off Arthur and too his feet in one fluid movement, and rocked back on his heels to admire Arthur, who was lay back, blushing, with swollen lips and love bites adorning his neck.

Alfred whistled lowly "I wish I had a camera...God, Artie..."

"Don't call me that." Arthur grumbled, and swung himself up, and his legs off the end of the bed- if he didn't feel tired when he woke up, he sure did now.

Alfred had already raced downstairs, and Arthur could hear him pottering about in the kitchen.

_'Really'_The Brit thought, as he grabbed Alfred's dressing gown from where it hung around the bedpost and slung it around himself _'That man and his stomach'_

The sound of the toaster being popped up and the kettle boiling greeted Arthur when he reached the kitchen.

Watching Alfred's bare, muscled back, work on buttering the toast did funny things to Arthur, as did wearing Alfred's dressing gown; it gave him a funny, fluttery feeling in his stomach.

He couldn't decide if he liked it or not.

Then Alfred turned to grin at him, his face illuminated by the sunlight that streamed though the gaps in the blinds.

And Arthur decided that the funny feeling was worth it, if it came in a package with Alfred.


	11. Transvestite

**Chapter 11: Transvestite**

**A/N- I re-read the last chapter and I was mortified by all the mistakes :| I ALSO HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED WITH THAT PAGE DIVIDE WTF.**

**Sorry for the wait...My holiday has been a busy one :) and this...I'm sorry if anyone seems more out of character than usual...**

**Oh! and a big hug and thankyou to**_Crystalgurl101_**Who never fails to review and always makes me smile :)**

**H-HOLY crap...86 reviews.**

**Not expecting that. THANKYOUTHANKYOU-**

When the doorbell rang, Arthur and Alfred were munching on toast quite amicably; so when that obnoxious chiming sounded out Arthur wanted to groan and cover up Alfred's bare chest with something; anything, just so whoever was at the door wouldn't have the downright _privilege_to oogle the American's abs.

Arthur mentally berated himself for being so clingy as Alfred hauled himself up to answer the door. Arthur stared down at his half eaten toast and strained his ears, for hopes he would hear Alfred telling whoever was at the door to (in no short terms)_piss off._

Yes, thats right, Arthur wanted to cuddle all day, with Alfred, alone.

But this didn't look like it was going to happen.

Alfred stumbled back into the kitchen, sporting a woman who was, for lack of better phrasing, big, blonde and beautiful.

Her hair was an ashy blonde that reached her shoulders in fancy, spiraling curls, and her eyes a poisonous green that rivaled Arthur's own. Dressed extravagantly in a mini skirt, tank top and boots of various animal prints, Arthur almost didn't notice the lanky, brown haired man with dull green eyes who followed her in.

"Alfreeed! IT'S SO GOOD to see YOU!" It seemed her sound dial was broken; sometimes her voice would rise and lower oddly and her exotic accent didn't help either. Arthur found it strangely entrancing.

Alfred noticeably didn't. He was trying to shake her off. The brown haired man gently took her arm and steered her off. Arthur gaped as Alfred sat back down and began eating his breakfast as if nothing had changed.

Arthur prayed that Alfred and the unknown female were related. Somehow.

The woman ruffled her hair and licked her lips as she looked round the room "Nice place, Alfie, I-"

Her eyes landed on Arthur.

Expecting a cold greeting, Arthur cringed at the way her eyed narrowed, then, surprisingly, she beamed.

"Alfie!" She crooned, swaying a little before hurrying over to Arthur and burying her hand in his hair. The brown haired man was pouring himself a cup of water, obviously pretending to not know her. "Where'd you get THIS cutie? HE'S gorgeous!"

The woman had grabbed Arthur's jawline with one hand, and was stroking his cheekbones with the other "He's like a pixie! SO DAINTY. And them eyes...It's...rather arousing."

The brown haired man spat his water out all over the back of Alfred's head. Alfred appeared to be having an fit.

"F-Feliks!" The brown haired man choked.  
><em>'Feliks? What an odd name, I think-OHMYGOD'<em>Arthur, staring up into his captor's face, jolted visibly as he took in the heavily made-up features;

Feliks was a man.

"It's okay, Toris. He knows I'm only joking, don't you, cutie?" Feliks winked at Arthur, who was admiring Feliks's crafty make-up job; it made him look rather feminine. And hos voice-! How he kept up that falsetto was beyond the Brit. Alfred caught Arthur's eye and cracked a knowing grin.

Arthur smiled too.

Feliks disentangled himself from Arthur, and leant back on the kitchen counter and twirled a blonde curl in between his fingers.

"You have no idea how much hairspray went into this..." He mused quietly, and turned his attention to Alfred.

Feliks pointed to Arthur, though his eyes made it clear he was addressing the American "Hurt him you die, Alfie."

Alfred began choking again.

Arthur hid his head in his hands.

"Are-Are you...really...a guy?" The Brit managed to gabble out, peeking out from behind his fingers.

Feliks gave an offhand grin "I can show you my junk if you want to"

Toris gave a groan, and with a muttered, panicked apology in Alfred's direction, he strode across the room, and grabbed Feliks's arm and proceeded to drag the transvestite out who complained loudly.

"I'll email you, Alfie! We're having a costume part to celebrate us moving here! I expect to and Cutie to be there!" Feliks suddenly squealed loudly from where Toris had dragged him to in the hallway "Oh, Toris! You're so SEXY when you're being MANLY for a change! Oh darling, I-"

The door slammed loudly, and silence dawned, apart from Alfred's sobbing (?) and Feliks's squealing which could be heard coming from the vague direction of the garden path.

"What. Was. That?" Arthur was still in shock, but somehow, his lips moved.

"Th-They MOVED here!" Alfred exploded, his hands pressed up against his temples "OH GOD I thought I'd never have to deal with THAT MAN again and now they're having a costume party-"

"We should go as a double act" Arthur mused, cutting Alfred's ramblings off. "Perhaps Snoopy and Charlie Brown...You could be Snoopy. Or maybe-"

"You're willing to go?" Arthur looked up into Alfred's suddenly beaming face "As a double act, with me?"

"Sure" Arthur shrugged _'You've driven me mental anyways, so I might as well go the whole hog'_

Alfred gave a very manly squeal "They say sex in costumes is the BEST sex!" -Arthur gaped- 'Oh, Oh! I have the best idea EVER for a double act, Artie! You just leave it to me!"


	12. Costumes

**Chapter 12: Costume**

**Sorry, my darlings. I've been a busy****bunny since I last say you. I want to give you all a massive bear hug for your support. You are truly lovely people. There was a scene in this chapter that I deleted, 'cuz I believed the characters were developing too quickly. My friend Molly will understand. She knows EXACTLY where this fic is going. The babe.**

**Yes, It's gonna be a long fic.**

**I think.**

The costume store was painted an eye blinding yellow, one that made Arthur squint as he tried to peer inside, around Alfred's head. The American was jabbering excitedly about the shop and how it often had good costume sales. Arthur wasn't really paying attention; he was too busy formulating a plan to maim and kill whoever had done the deco job for this garish establishment.

The Brit wrinkled his nose _'A simple, classic floral print would have done the job nicely'_Arthur thought, slightly mournfully, as the taller man dragged him inside. The rather camp, overly homosexual side of Arthur squealed as he glanced down as his and Alfred's hands (which were entwined quite tightly). Unfortunately, the much larger, more apprehensive part of Arthur was reeling with confusion; he wasn't built for romance, simply put.

He smiled fondly, however, at Alfred's antics; the American was bouncing about and grabbing anything that looked remotely shiny off the shelves. It was...cute.

Arthur quietly concluded that if he was ever going to fall in love, he would like to fall in love with Alfred. He liked the American deeply, but love was a high and scary step for Arthur Kirkland, who was nervous to say the least when it came to relationships.

Felling a soft tap on his shoulder, Arthur tore his eyes away from Alfred, who (after finding a box of plastic light-up lightsabers)was having a Jedi battle with a ten year freckled, redheaded boy.

Turning around, Arthur came face-to-face with a slightly sheepish looking Feliciano (the Italian obviously still felt bad about the party). Ludwig was stood, not a foot behind the Italian. He looked pained. he had probably been dragged here too.

"Feliks' fancy dress party?" Arthur asked, with a small smile for the Italian. Feliciano suddenly beamed up at the Brit.

"Yes, ve!" Feliciano nodded hard. It looked like his curl was going to bob off.

Ludwig, on the other hand, looked less than enthusiastic.

Arthur turned back to Alfred, and almost screamed with frustration. The American was talking to Francis. The French man was making several rude gestures, mainly with his fingers, but there was a little bit of hip thrusting added in for effect. Every now and then he would point to Arthur. Alfred was nodding along and looking very serious. Arthur let out the strangled gasp he was holding in, and rushed over like a ruffled hen. The Brit grabbed Alfred's hand (who whooped gleefully as he was pulled away) and snarled at the Frenchman.

"Do you mind?" Arthur all but shreiked. The little red-headed boy, who had been watching all this time, vanished with a little whimper.

Arthur could feel Ludwig and Feliciano shuffling awkwardly behind him.

"Ooh! _C'est mon petit copine,_Arthur! Why, I didn't see you there. _Ma Cherie!_" Francis clapped his hands together gleefully. Arthur fumed. Alfred played with a little strand of Arthur's hair as he hummed to himself.

"Quit it with the frog lingo, Beardy!" Arthur growled. "We're here to buy costumes for Feliks' party and YOU ARE NOT-"

"Ah!" Francis exclaimed, his face lighting "That is why I am here too! Why, I have had the most brilliant idea! How about a collaboration?"

"a hoo-de-what-how?" Alfred asked intelligently, wrapping and arm round Arthur (who blushed profusely) Feliciano and Ludwig joined the little group fully, instead of lurking in the background. Francis gave them a welcoming smile.

"Why, my good friend, a collaboration! we should go to the party in a group of characters that fit us best!"

"No" Arthur said sarcastically "We should all go as characters that fit us _horribly_"

Everyone turned to stare at the Brit with an awed expression. Francis's smile reached to a truly terrifying magnitude. It looked like his face was going to split in half.

Arthur didn't like the gleam in the Frenchman's eyes either.

"Artie!" Alfred said "Thats an awesome idea!"

'I do believe," Francis interjected softly. Ludwig looked like he wanted to cry "That Alfred is right"

The sentence was punctuated with a predatory smirk sent the Brit's way.

"Oh, piss." Arthur said faintly.

Scooby Doo.

They'd settled on Scooby Doo costumes. They were cheap, and there was five of them. It seemed perfect, but all Arthur wanted to do was curl up in his airing cupboard and weep. At least Alfred's unwavering enthusiasm was slightly uplifting. Alfred was going as Daphne, the token pretty girl of the Scooby Doo cast. Arthur had ended up as Fred, the macho one. Ludwig had opted to be Shaggy, and Feliciano had bagged Scooby.

Arthur had wanted to interject that this costume defeated the purpose of dressing up as characters that didn't fit them' Scooby fit Feliciano to a 'T'.

But the Italian, it seemed, was besotted with the costume, and Arthur found that really quite endearing. He kept his mouth shut.

As the congregated in the changing rooms, Francis got rather odd looks (though not as odd as the ones that were sent Alfred's way) as he pranced around as Velma. Arthur thought the Frenchman was more suited for Daphne, but then, Alfred seemed to have got into his character quite well; he was batting his lashes and puckering his lips and a Fred-suit-clad Arthur.

Arthur wept inside as he purchased his costume.


End file.
